


The Quest

by iLurked



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Dancing with the Stars (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iLurked/pseuds/iLurked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen wondered when he had lost control of his life. </p><p>(The answer was probably between the time his best friend told him, “Remember when you signed me up for the Bachelorette? Well, guess what? It's payback time.”, and when he heard a disembodied voice proudly proclaim, “Live, from Hollywood, please welcome the new cast of Dancing with the Stars!”)</p><p>An Olicity!DWTS AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre-Show Jitters

Oliver Queen wondered, not for the first time, when he had lost control of his life.  
  
Looking back, it was probably the Monday when his best friend called him, waking him up from his much-needed sleep.  
  
“Remember when you signed me up for _The Bachelorette_ and then ran out the next day by enlisting in the army?” Was Tommy Merlyn's opening salvo. “Well, you know what they say about payback being a bitch.”  
  
“Tommy?” Oliver groaned, trying in vain to free himself from his bedsheets while keeping the phone against his ear. “You do know it's eight in the morning, right?”  
  
“I know.” Came the cheerful reply. “Which makes this moment even better.”  
  
Oliver rubbed a hand over his face, just to make sure that he was awake and not dreaming. “How are you up and about at this unholy hour when we just closed Verdant four hours ago?  
  
“Because I just received the most exciting news,” Tommy declared, a smile evident from his voice. “What do you know about a show called _Dancing with the Stars_? If the answer is nothing, then I strongly suggest you start researching now because in a couple of months, you're going to star in it.”  
  
Oliver groaned. It was too early in the morning to be matching wits with a gleeful Tommy Merlyn.  
  
Still, Oliver tried. "Tommy, I know I have been away for five years, but I do know that Laurel is a dancer on that show."  
  
"I already talked to Laurel." Was Tommy's riposte. "She said she's fine with it. Actually, she sounded positively gleeful over the thought of you dancing in her show."   
  
"You know what?" Oliver gave up. "I'll talk to you later, preferably after I have a cup of coffee."  
  
To make matters worse, immediately after extracting himself from his conversation with Tommy, Oliver's phone rang again.  
  
“How come you're doing _Dancing with the Stars_ when _I'm_ the celebrity in this family?” His younger sister screeched without so much as a hello. “What are you famous for, anyway? Your misspent, crime-infused youth and your sudden turn-around when you ran away to join the army?”  
  
Despite the topic of their conversation, a small smile graced Oliver's face. He missed the brat who left Starling City for Hollywood to pursue her dreams.  
  
At the same time, he understood why she had to leave. And he was so proud of her. She defied expectations by not succumbing to the lures of drugs and alcohol. She also thumbed her nose at naysayers who disbelieved her simply because she was perceived to be a spoiled, little rich girl. Instead, she went to Hollywood all by herself, got cast in a television show, then proceeded to bag an acting nomination from a prestigious body for her role in the  television series.  
  
“Hello, Thea.”  
  
“Oh, hey, Ollie.”  
  
He could almost hear her eyes rolling.  
  
“Tommy told you about his scheme, huh?" Outplayed by Merlyn. Again.  
  
“Yep.” Came the reply. "He was so proud, too."  
  
“Well, it's a non-issue because I'm not going to do it.”  
  
“But you can't not do it!” She all but screamed. “You have to do it!”  
  
“Thea, the show shoots in Hollywood—”  
  
“Oh, no,” Thea cried out dramatically. “If only there was someone you know who has a house in Hollywood because that's where she shoots her hit television series.”  
  
Oliver grinned. He loved his sister.  
  
“Do it, Ollie. Do it for me.” Thea whined. “And you can stay with me while doing the show! We can finally spend time together.”  
  
And if anyone asked, that was what finally sold him to do the show (along with the fact that Tommy had already forged Oliver's signature on the contract): the chance to spend time with his sister.  
  


* * *

  
Felicity Smoak was never the girl who wanted to be the center of attention. She, as a matter of fact, preferred the anonymity of the background. This was mostly because when thrust in front of a crowd, her stomach would cramp, her palms would sweat, and, worst case scenario, she would throw up. Which had been a huge problem because she loved to dance.  
  
Fortunately, she was now over the nerves and the throwing up and the sweaty palms (mostly). It was a hard, uphill battle but she overcame her afflictions, mostly by forcing herself to dance in front of crowds despite of everything.  
  
Still, she preferred to be a backup dancer, perfectly satisfied to be part of the troupe.  
  
Unfortunately, her mother had other ideas.  
  
One Friday evening, Felicity was in pajamas, celebrating her successful defense of her thesis with a pint of mint chip ice cream. The dessert was a rare indulgence because the premiere of the twentieth season of _Dancing with the Stars_ was only a few weeks away. The tiny and revealing costumes she wore as a troupe dancer were very unforgiving.  
  
Thus, with her thesis defense done, her mint chip ice cream in front of her waiting to be eaten, and her Netflix queue ready and loaded, she was relaxed and defenseless to the extreme.  
  
(That was her excuse on why her mother's sneak attack took her by surprise.)  
  
“Have you heard?” Donna Smoak screeched the moment Felicity answered her phone, without even waiting for a hello.  
  
Felicity winced. Her phone was a good six inches away from her ear, and she could still hear her mother.  
  
“Helena quit the show!” Her mother announced boisterously, not noticing, or not caring, that her daughter did not reply. “She said she was tired of getting old men who had knee surgeries as partners and that she's now moving on to a show who can appreciate her talent. You know what that means?”  
  
“That Helena has reached her limit of dirty old men?” Felicity hazarded.  
  
“That they need a new female pro!” Donna declared at the same time. “Guess who is in the shortlist of new female pro? Or more precisely, the only person in the shortlist!”  
  
“No!” Felicity widened in fear. Being a pro dancer was the furthest thing from what she wanted. She liked dancing with the troupe and being a backup dancer. “Mom, no. No way!”  
  
“Isn't it exciting?” Donna continued on. “My daughter is finally a pro! And it all works out, too, because your classes would no longer be in the way of the show!”  
  
“Mom, listen to me!” She clutched at her phone, as if doing so would make her mother finally stop and notice her. “Mom, wait. Mom! MOM!”  
  
“What?” Donna's constant stream of chatter stopped abruptly.   
  
“I don't want to be a pro, mom!” Felicity groaned out, frustrated.  
  
“But, Felicity...”  
  
Felicity winced at her mother's tone. It did not bode well.  
  
“I don't want to be a pro dancer.” Felicity tried to put across her statement as calmly as possible because the woman tend to hear only what she wanted to hear. “I can't, and don't want to, babysit a celebrity.”  
  
“Don't think of it as babysitting a pro, baby,” her mother crooned. “Think of it as an opportunity to meet the love of your life.”  
  
“Didn't you just say that the reason Helena quit was because the producers had been foisting on her old men who could barely move?”  
  
A beat, then, “Well, you could learn a lot from an older man. I've always wanted to have an affair with a much older man, you know. Although, come to think of it, I also wouldn't object to be the older partner in the relationship. I make a beautiful cougar. ”  
  
“Ew! Mom! TMI!”  
  
"Well, think of it this way, Felicity," her mother's tone turned soothing. "If they give you the season's token old man who had just had knee surgery, you'll last only a couple of weeks, tops."  
  
“Mom,” Felicity cringed, fearing the worst. “Why are you talking like this is a done deal?”  
  
To her benefit, her mother sounded apologetic. “Because it is?”  
  
“Mom!”   
  


* * *

  
After Tommy's fateful phone call, things quickly unfolded.  
  
A producer who had introduced himself as Sebastian flew into Starling for an interview, dragging along a cameraman with him.  
  
“I heard your sister sent you _Youtube_ clips of _Dancing with the Stars_  after finding out that you're coming on to the show.” The squirrelly-looking producer stated as one of cameras zoomed in on Oliver's face.  
  
Oliver resisted the urge to snatch the video camera away and smash it into a million pieces.  
  
“Who among the pros would you like to be your partner?” Sebastian asked, blissfully unaware of Oliver's violent thoughts.  
  
“I don't know who I'd prefer,” Oliver admitted reluctantly. He didn't want to say anything, but it might be his last chance to put his objection out there. “But I do know that I don't want it to be Laurel Lance.”  
  
Thrilled with the juicy answer, the producer continued to pry. “Why not?”  
  
“Because we used to date a lifetime ago." Oliver answered candidly, thinking  that all the details of his relationship with Laurel was but a Google search away. "We're okay now, but I think it would be awkward to be dancing close together for three months.”  
  
(In retrospect, Oliver should have been more specific with whom he did not want to partner with.)  
  
Too soon, he found himself wrapping up his businesses in Starling, leaving his club _Verdant_ in the capable hands of Tommy, who couldn't complain about being left to do all the work because the show was his idea in the first place.  
  
His first day in Hollywood was also the scheduled first day of rehearsals. (Unsurprisingly, Oliver Queen was an hour late.)  
  
When he entered the rehearsal room, he saw three cameras and Sebastian already inside, but no pro.  
  
Before Oliver could react, there was a knock on the door.  
  
“I think that's for you,” Sebastian stated cryptically.  
  
Barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes, Oliver stood up to open the door to reveal a stunning blond woman.  
  
He felt his mouth dropping open when he saw who was on the other side of the door.  
  
“You're my partner? "Oliver asked the obvious, dumbfounded.  
  
(On Oliver's peripherals, he could see the utter look of delight on the producer's face. The idiot even motioned for the camera to zoom in on Oliver's face.)  
  
The blond in front of him grinned. “Surprise?”  
  
Had he known that the woman in front of him right now was also a pro in the show, he would have requested not to be paired with her, too.   
  
Because the blond woman on the other side of the door?  
  
He also dated her in another lifetime.  
  


* * *

  
Felicity Smoak was back at MIT, closing up her apartment and packing her bags when she received a message from _Dancing with the Stars_ telling her to proceed to the rooftop of one of the tallest building nearby and wait for further instructions.  
  
Waiting with her on the rooftop was one of the producers and a cameraman.  
  
“What exactly are we waiting for, Jerry?” She asked the producer once she was in position.  
  
Jerry scanned the skies before pointing out a speck in the distance, “Up there!”  
  
“Is that a bird?” Felicity asked. “Or a plane?”  
  
“Nope.” Jerry replied cheerfully. “It's a helicopter!”  
  
True enough, a helicopter landed minutes later, and a tall, handsome brunette with a winning smile stepped down.  
  
“Hi! I'm Ray.”  
  


* * *

  
“So, how do you know each other?” The obnoxious producer had asked Oliver Queen after his pro excused herself to change into workout clothes.  
  
“We used to date.” Oliver replied through gritted teeth.  
  
“Oh. I thought you said that it was the other Lance sister you used to date?” The producer pressed, as if he did not already know the answer.   
  
“I dated them both.” Oliver admitted, but at the same time, he tried to glare the other man into silence.  
  
To no avail.  
  
“At the same time?”  
  
“No.” Was Oliver's automatic, and untrue, denial. Then, more quietly, “Yes.”  
  
“Like a threesome?”  
  
If looks could kill, the producer would be lying in a pool of his own blood by now. “Alright, interview's over.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Sara!” Oliver called out to his new partner. “It's time to get to work.”  
  


* * *

  
“Is that helicopter yours?”  
  
“That is my helicopter.” He grinned. “And this is my building.” He made a vague, waving motion with his hands towards the rooftop they were standing on.  
  
At the producer's cough, Felicity remembered herself.  
  
“Oh, I'm Felicity Smoak.” She offered her hand. “Your partner in _Dancing with the Stars_.”  
  
“I know who you are.” Ray took her hand in both of his, then leaned in to admit, “I requested for you.”  
  
“Really?” She looked at him with suspicion. “I didn't even know I was going on as a pro until a few days ago.”  
  
“Well, yeah. I have been offered a spot in the show a couple of times before this season,” he replied. “I told them I want to do it but only if you're my partner. Big fan, by the way.”  
  
“That's flattering?” Felicity bit her lip, undecided. “And no pressure, right?”  
  
“None, whatsoever. BTW, have you ever ridden in a helicopter before?"  
  
"No," she replied. "Can't say that I have."  
  
"Oh, good. Because my helicopter is waiting to take us to Ivy Town.” Ray told her enthusiastically. “I can't fly out to Hollywood yet because of business commitments, but I had an entire floor of my building in Ivy Town refurbished to serve as our rehearsal room in the meantime. I hope you don't mind.”  
  
“How many buildings do you own?” Felicity asked. “I mean, yeah, sure. Whisk me away to Ivy Town without any warning. It's not like I have a life or anything.”  
  
“So, shall we?” Ray grinned at her, unperturbed.


	2. Week One: The Season Premiere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Live, from Hollywood, please welcome the new cast of Dancing with the Stars!”

“ _Live, from Hollywood, please welcome the new cast of Dancing with the Stars!_ ”  
  
It was game time but Oliver's feet refused to move.  
  
He was moments away from his first step into the ballroom and he was the furthest thing from ready.  
  
Oliver couldn't even hear himself think over the cacophony of the live band that was blaring out the show's now-familiar theme song and the surprisingly loud studio audience that was screaming in excitement.  
  
A nondescript man wearing an obnoxious pair of earphones and wielding the iPad of Death screamed, “Go! Go! Go! Go!"  
  
Just as he was about to take a step forward, Oliver froze.  
  
“Oliver?” Sara's worried blue eyes looked up to him.  
  
The man with the iPad of Death attempted to help by giving Oliver a shove forward, only to learn that Oliver moved only when he wanted to move.  
  
A half-hearted glare from Oliver made the man yelp and hide behind his tablet.  
  
The man was afraid.  
  
Good.  
  
Because while he could not seem to find it in himself to take his first step into the ballroom, Oliver Queen still knew how much pressure to exert in order to break someone's neck.

* * *

  
“ _Live, from Hollywood, please welcome the new cast of Dancing with the Stars!_ ”  
  
Felicity found herself at the left wing holding her Ray's hand, waiting for the signal that it was finally time for her to walk on stage with her partner. While her dance with Ray was slated to be second to the last, they had to appear at the beginning of the show so they could be introduced.  
  
Her adrenaline spiked at the sound of the audience screaming in excitement.  
  
She would be the last to admit it, but she was glad her mom got the harebrained idea to make her a pro for that season.  
  
Sure, it was great to dance with the other pros (in fact, she had just finished with the opening number). However, the feeling when she was teaching and choreographing a dance to a person who wasn't a professional was phenomenal. She was surprised at the sense of accomplishment she felt whenever Ray had a breakthrough or when he nailed a difficult step.  
  
Or maybe it was just the man himself. Ray was the perfect partner for a first time pro like her. He genuinely wanted to learn how to dance and his love for the show was infectious.   
  
They were literally seconds away from stepping into the ballroom, and Ray was practically hopping with excitement.  
  
The cue for the stars and their pros to walk on stage was given but there seemed to be a holdup.  
  
Felicity peered around and saw the star in front of them. It was Oliver Queen, whom she knew because she stumbled onto one of his fansites while she was researching Queen Consolidated, one of the tech companies she sent a resume to. (That was her story and she was sticking to it.)   
  
Oliver had the look that she had seen in front of a mirror numerous times before a show.  
  
(It was nice to know that even gazillionaire Greek gods experience stage fright just like mere mortals like her.)  
  
“Hey,” she reached up to squeeze the shoulder of Mr. Queen in encouragement. And oh, wow, the man's shoulder was as hard as boulders.  
  
She might have vocalized the last statement out loud because the corners of Oliver's lips slowly lifted.  
  
Felicity groaned at her inability to keep a thought in her head but she gamely soldiered ahead.  
  
“Take a deep breath,” she instructed him, repeating her mother's words whenever she would get the world's worst case of stage fright. “Remember that this is just a television show. Now, go get them, tiger.”  
  
That seemed to do the trick.  
  
He nodded his thanks before taking a rather tentative step forward.  
  
His partner, Sara Lance, looked back at Felicity to give her a grateful look before walking out into the stage with her partner.  
  
“Good luck,” Felicity mouthed.  
  
Soon, it was her and Ray's turn. Hand in hand, they walked out into the ballroom.  
  
She lived for days like this.

* * *

Oliver knew that he had pasted a fake smile on his face, mostly because Thea was seated front row center, mouthing at him to smile more and pointing at her mouth for emphasis.  
  
After the last couple was called, the host, Harrison Wells, did a little spiel about how excited they were for the new season and how they had the brightest group of stars ever.  
  
“Let's get right to it with war vet and businessman who is paired with a twelve-time U.S. National Latin Dance Champion.” Harrison declared.  
  
“Here's what happened when Oliver Queen met Sara Lance and immediately ran into some problems.” Harrison's co-host, McKenna Hall, stated with a toothy smile.  
  
Suddenly, the huge screen that dominated one side of the ballroom showed Oliver's face.  
  
While the video package rolled, the rest of the couples filed out of the ballroom.  
  
Oliver wondered how his younger self tolerated seeing himself on television. If he felt then how he felt now, he was pretty sure avoiding the news would be sufficient incentive for him to behave. (Of course, the reason his younger self not not minding being gossip fodder may have something to do with him being drunk, or high, or drunk and high.)  
  
Now, seeing himself on the huge video screen talking like some self-important, narcissistic schmuck, he would have given anything to avoid being on television.  
  
He watched himself on the video package have a hard time describing himself. (Thea hit it on the head when she asked what he was famous for.)  
  
Then, Sara Lance thankfully appeared onscreen.  
  
“We have two problems.” Sara from the video package was saying.  
  
“Only two?” Oliver looked up from his slump on the floor. Because on the top of his head, he could name at least ten, the most glaring of which was the fact that he sucked at dancing. Of course, the lapel mic that was attached to him every time he stepped into the rehearsal studio, the three cameras that were always pointed at him, and the production staff that watched his every move, did not help at all.  
  
Sara gave him The Look.  
  
After a week of eight-hour rehearsals, Oliver was intimately familiar with The Look. It was Sara's way of telling him to stop being an idiot, listen to her, and do as she said.  
  
“I'll bite. What are our two problems?”  
  
“First are the judges.” Sara told him. “Well, one of the judges. Donna Smoak is a sweetheart, I think she's going to love you. The head judge, Amanda Waller, is very fair, she's going to give great feedback and she's going to be very clear about the things she expects from you.”  
  
“So who's going to be the problem judge?” He asked.  
  
“My dad.” Sara looked apologetic.  
  
Oliver groaned. How could he have forgotten about Quentin Lance, ballroom judge extraordinaire.  
  
“You know that dad's going to be one of the judges and he hates your guts. Prepare to be underscored.”  
  
“How can he underscore us? He loves you.” Oliver pointed out.  
  
“Yeah, but you know Laurel's his favorite,” she said. Her tone was matter-of-fact, with no tinge of bitterness. It was something she had already come to terms with. During her younger years, it had caused her to act out and rebel. It may or may not be a factor in her ill-conceived affair with Oliver while he was dating Laurel. “And you broke her heart. Now, he's out to get you.”  
  
To be honest, a judge who had a vendetta against him was low on his list of worries regarding the show.  
  
“What's our second problem?”  
  
“There's going to be an elimination on the premiere.” Sara told him. “The couple with the lowest score would immediately be booted off the show.”  
  
“The weakest dancer would be eliminated on the first day.” Oliver digested the information he had just been given. “Huh.”  
  
And for the first time since learning that he would be doing the show, hope bloomed in Oliver's heart.

* * *

“ _Dancing the cha-cha-cha, Oliver Queen and his partner Sara Lance._ ”  
  
“And remember to have fun.” Sara gave his hand a squeeze before walking to her starting position.  
  
For two seconds, Oliver wondered what would happen if he made a break for it.  
  
The music swelled, telling him that it was too late to back out now.  
  
At the cue, dance-walked towards Sara.  
  
He was doing pretty well, judging from the encouraging shouts that Sara occasionally gave him. He even got the hip action that gave him trouble during rehearsals.  
  
A minute and a half later, it was over and Oliver could breathe again.  
  
“Good job,” Harrison congratulated Oliver and Sara as he motioned for them to come towards him.  
  
And now, it was time to face the judges.  
  
“Oliver,” Donna Smoak, the judge who was supposed to be a sweetheart, gave him a hesitant smile. “There's something about you that I really, really like. You and Sara are so gorgeous together. You look fantastic and your footwork is divine, but you fell out of time so many times. You got to work on your musicality. Having said that, I must admit that I liked parts of the dance, it showed a lot of potential.”  
  
“It's not easy going first,” the head judge, Amanda Waller, went next, her face devoid of any emotion. “The dance was a little too careful, too casual, but it showed a lot of personality. I agree with the timing. If you make it to next week, you've got to work your butt off. You have got to give us more.”  
  
It was now the turn of the judge Oliver was dreading the most: Quentin Lance, father of both Sara and Laurel Lance.  
  
“To be quite honest,” he started. Lance had his arms crossed and a prominent frown was on his face. “I didn't like it. Your footwork was atrocious, as was your personality. It's the cha-cha-cha. You've got to be sharp and clean, and you've got to be in rhythm. Unfortunately, you've got nothing.”  
  
Sara was so mad that she actually stole the microphone from Harrison. “We're going to talk about this when we get home, dad.”  
  
Harrison laughed, thinking Sara was kidding. “Alright, before we have a full-on domestic squabbles here, please head on up to the Sky Box so you could get your scores.”  
  
The Sky Box was the mezzanine overlooking the ballroom where the cast could watch whoever was dancing. McKenna Hall was waiting there to ask Oliver a bunch of questions about dating both Lance sisters and being judged by their father, which he answered halfheartedly.  
  
Thank goodness one of the producers frantically motioned for McKenna to move the program along.  
  
“ _Will the judges please show your scores_.”  
  
One by one, the judges raised their paddles after their names were called.  
  
6 – 6 – 4.  
  
Oliver grinned, showing more animation in those few seconds receiving his score than his entire dance.  
  
The scores were higher than what he expected or wanted, but he could work with that.

* * *

Felicity was in the backstage known as the Red Room (so-called because of the color of its walls) waiting for her turn to dance. Meanwhile, she was watching her friend and mentor John Diggle kill it on the dance floor with his partner, the world-famous, number one pound-for-pound female MMA fighter, Lyla “Harbringer” Michaels.  
  
They were really, really good.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Felicity looked up to see Oliver Queen next to her. “Hey.”  
  
He was not looking at her, but was instead looking at the screen showing Dig and Lyla's dance.  
  
When he did not say anything more, Felicity turned back to the giant screen.  
  
“They're good.” Oliver commented to her after Dig and Lyla concluded their dance.  
  
“They are.” Felicity nodded.  
  
This time, when Felicity looked up, he was now looking at her.  
  
She smiled.  
  
“I'm Oliver Queen."  
  
“Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Queen.”  
  
“No,” he said emphatically. “Mr. Queen was my father. Call me Oliver.”  
  
“Hi.” Felicity heard herself giggle like a teenager with her first crush. She resisted the urge to twirl a lock of hair around her finger. “I'm Felicity Smoak. Congratulations on your dance.”  
  
“Thanks, but it was bad.”  
  
“It wasn't a disaster,” Felicity told him encouragingly. “Sure, you were out of tempo for most of it, you don't extend your arms as you should, and you have the tendency to not finish your moves. Aaaand I'm not helping, am I?”  
  
He gave her a little head tilt that said that he was not offended and found her amusing, instead.  
  
“But!” Felicity tried to salvage the conversation. “That's a but with a single T, not the double kind, not that there's something wrong with your butt with a double T.”  
  
A single eyebrow was raised, effectively giving Felicity the chance to rethink what she was saying.  
  
“As I was saying,” Felicity took a deep, calming breath. “My point is that there's something about you that is compelling, and if you survive today's elimination, I think the ladies are going to vote for you, if only to reach Latin Night.”  
  
“Latin Night?”  
  
“Also known as Shirts are Forbidden Night.”  
  
“Ah, Latin Night.” He fell silent thereafter.  
  
Felicity gave him a quizzical look. Was Oliver Queen being bashful?  
  
“I just want to thank you for,” he paused, seemingly searching for the words. “You know. Giving me a push earlier.”  
  
“Oh. It's not a problem.”  
  
Oliver nodded and gave her a sweet, if not a tad bit awkward, touch on the shoulder.  
  
He then turned back to the screen.  
  
Apparently, conversation was over.  
  
Which was good because it was time for the judges to score Lyla and Dig.  
  
Felicity's excited shouts were loudest when Lyla and Dig received their scores: 8 - 7 – 8, which was a point higher than the 8 – 7 – 7 received by current partnership holding the number one spot: singer/songwriter Cisco Ramon and his pro Laurel Lance.  
  
When she turned back to Oliver, he was gone.

* * *

Okay, he might have handled that better, but there's just something about Felicity Smoak that regressed him to an awkward twelve-year old meeting his older woman crush.  
  
(Not that he had went through that awkward twelve-year old phase.)  
  
She finally had a name. Felicity Smoak.   
  
He first noticed her during camera blocking and again during dress rehearsals. Which was saying a lot because the show was filled with beautiful, scantily-clad women. It was Felicity who grabbed his attention from the very first fuchsia-tinted smile.   
  
Now, he watched her from a darkened corner of the room like some sort of perv. Who could blame him, though? She was the sort of woman who became more and more beautiful the longer you stare at her. With her cascading blonde hair, her white, flowing dress, and the sparkles in the hair, Oliver was reminded of the fairies that starred in the story books he used to read to Thea.  
  
Moments later, her partner Ray and a producer approached. Immediately, Ray took her hand in his.  
  
Judging from the adoring puppy look Ray was giving Felicity, and the way he was vibrating in excitement, Ray genuinely wanted to be in the show.  
  
Which was a stark contrast to Oliver's barely contained excitement when he learned that the lowest-scoring couple would be eliminated.  
  
To be honest, in accepting his contract with the show, he thought he was giving up three months of his life, not realizing that he could be eliminated in the first week.  
  
Now, he was a man with a plan.

* * *

Being Donna Smoak's daughter was both a blessing and a curse.  
  
On one hand, many doors opened for Donna Smoak's daughter that would otherwise be closed.  
  
On the other, Felicity lived in constant fear of being compared to her wonderful, talented, beautiful mother.  
  
Donna Smoak was a legend in dancing circles. She was an in demand, award-winning dancer and choreographer, having choreographed for many famous singers and dance groups. She also did a stint on on Broadway. Now semi-retired, she was focusing on her dance studio, on being on the judging panel of _Dancing with the Stars_ , and on getting grandbabies from her only child, not necessarily in that order.  
  
That was why Felicity never ever choreographed a dance to be shown on live television.  
  
Until now.  
  
Felicity just received the cue that she and Ray were dancing next while the couple that came before them were being critiqued by the judges.  
  
“Ready?” She asked Ray.  
  
“I was ready since waking up this morning.” He replied.  
  
That was exactly what she wanted to hear. 

“Let's kill this.” She told him. "Figuratively, I mean. Not literally."

* * *

His freedom was so close he could actually taste it.  
  
Seven couples in and he was still the lowest-scoring dancer. His elimination was but three dances away.  
  
And then Nobel-prize winning physicist Martin Stein and his partner Caitlin Snow jived their way into the bottom of the leader board with a 4 – 5 – 5 from the judges.  
  
That meant Oliver was dancing for one more week.  
  
Sara was ecstatic.  
  
Oliver was not.  
  
He was, in fact, not sure how much more of this he could endure.

* * *

“Welcome back!" Harrison announced. "To continue the season premier, here's the founder, chairman, and CEO of Palmer Industries, Ray Palmer. Let's watch as he and first-time pro and former troupe member Felicity Smoak try to buy themselves to the top of the leader board.”   
  
"I'm Ray Palmer and people know me as an entrepreneur, inventor, and founder and CEO of Palmer Industries."  
  
After Ray's intro, the video package shifted to a horrified screech.  
  
“What are you doing?” Jerry the producer's hands went to his waist.  
  
Felicity and Ray, who were lounging on the floor right next to each other with an array of gadgets surrounding them, looked up guiltily.  
  
“We were just taking a break?” Felicity replied sheepishly.  
  
“I step out for just five minutes to talk to the Powers That Be and you're already goofing off.” Jerry huffed.  
  
“Sorry?” Ray offered, not a little chastised.  
  
“I expected this from Ray because he has the attention span of a gnat.” Jerry continued.  
  
Jerry ignored the halfhearted, offended hey! from Ray.  
  
“Felicity,” Jerry continued his tirade. “You're the professional here. I expected better from you.”  
  
“But Jerry,” Felicity pouted, grabbing and shaking Ray's arm to show to Jerry. “Do you know what this is?”  
  
“Ray's wrist?”  
  
“No!” Felicity crawled nearer towards Jerry, taking Ray's wrist and, by extension, dragging Ray behind her. “This is the prototype for the Palmer Smart Wearable 6. It isn't even out on the market yet.”  
  
“I don't care!” Producer Jerry turned to the camera people in the room.  
  
“You really shouldn't have promised to give me and the crew free stuff if we win the Mirror Ball trophy.” Felicity told Ray, who didn't even look the slightest bit ashamed.  
  
“If I could bribe the judges to give us extra points,” he said. “You know I'd do it.”  
  
“That's it!” Jerry declared as he moved closer to the duo. He started confiscating the scattered phones, tablets, and smart wearables around them. “We're having a tech moratorium. No techie stuff in the rehearsal room!"  
  
“Why don't you just kick me in the face?” Felicity cried out, grabbing back her phone. “No!”  
  
“Yes!” Jerry insisted. “Give me your phone. Give me your phone!”  
  
In the duo's struggle with the tech, they both fell back into Ray.

* * *

“ _Dancing the jive, Ray Palmer and his partner Felicity Smoak._ "  
  
It was fast, it was furious, and it was fun.  
  
During the incredibly fast dance, Felicity fed off Ray's energy. He was so happy, so into the moment, so enthusiastic to be in the ballroom. He was the best celebrity partner a pro could ask for. Felicity marveled as he danced his best dance yet.  
  
Too soon, the one and a half minute was over.  
  
Felicity laughed as she launched herself up to give Ray a high five. She laughed some more when Ray grabbed her and spun her around.  
  
“That was nicely done.” Harrison Wells told them as he encouraged them to stand in front of the judges. “Very nicely done.”  
  
When Felicity turned to the judges' table, she saw her mom blinking back tears.  
  
“Oh, honey,” Donna Smoak cried. “I'm so proud of you. And Ray Palmer, you slayed that jive. It was a little wild at times but you were on beat. It was sharp, it was fun.”  
  
Waller also had very nice things to say about Ray's dancing but it was to Felicity that she directed her last comments, stating that, “Felicity, a little tip since this is your first time as a pro. You have to be aware of your partner at all times. Remember that he's not a professional so you could never leave him on his own. Never expect him to do what he's supposed to do. Always assume that he's going to mess up.”  
  
"It was a tad too manic for me, to be quite honest. But it was fun, it was well-executed." Lance ended his critic by turning to Felicity. “Good job on the choreography, darling.”  
  
“I smell good scores,” Harrison Wells told them. “Head on up to the Sky Box.”  
  
Harrison was right. Ray and Felicity received 7 – 7 – 7, putting them in third place at the ranking and saving them from elimination.  
  
Yep. Felicity Smoak lived for days like this. 

* * *

Oliver Queen was exhausted. Not only because of the dancing, but also because of the unexpected exit interviews he had to give after the show.  
  
He was able to get through the prying questions on his personal life only because he was a man with a plan.  
  
Unfortunately, the moment he got to his sister's house that evening, she had shaken her cellphone at him.  
  
“My friends and I just spent all our votes on you,” she beamed at him. “And I, my cast mates, and our show's official Twitter account just tweeted our millions of Twitter followers to do the same.”  
  
Well, there went his goal of kicked out of the show as soon as possible.


	3. Week Two: The Most Memorable Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome to Dancing with the Stars! Tonight, our stars celebrate the most memorable year of their lives. We have an amazing night before us because we'll see a different side of our celebrities before they take the dance floor in tonight's competition.”

“ _Live, from Hollywood, this is Dancing with the Stars._ ”  
  
“Welcome to _Dancing with the Stars_! I'm Harrison Wells.” The charismatic host declared from the studio's balcony. Behind him were the manically-grinning, overexcited studio audience. Beside him was his gorgeous co-host.  
  
“And I'm McKenna Hall." His co-host gave a blinding grin. "Tonight, our stars celebrate the most memorable year of their lives.”  
  
“We have an amazing night before us,” Harrison continued. “Because we'll see a different side of our celebrities before they take the dance floor in tonight's competition.”  
  
Oliver sighed as he once again felt like an exotic specimen left out on display, standing on the walkway with Sara in front of the audience. Fortunately, there were nine other couples standing in line with him.  
  
“Before we begin with the dancing, let's check the leaderboard,” McKenna declared. “At the top is Lyla and Dig with twenty-three judges' points; while on the bottom is Oliver and Sara with sixteen.”  
  
As if Oliver needed to be reminded that he was dead last. Then again, that wasn't a bad thing for him.  
  
“And now,” Harrison declared officiously. “For some results.”  
  
“Alright.” McKenna agreed. “Lyla and Dig,” she paused for dramatic effect. “You're safe! And you're going to dance first.”  
  
Oliver sighed in relief as they were allowed to return backstage.

* * *

Felicity was once again in front of the big screen at the Red Room, watching Lyla and Dig nail their rumba.  
  
Rumba was a dance that was sexy and intimate and to dance it on the second week was nerve-wracking. Fortunately, Lyla and Dig moved as if they were doing it most of their lives.  
  
When the dance ended, Felicity reached out to clasp Ray's hand, apprehensive because while the dance was phenomenal, one can never tell how the judges were going to receive it.  
  
When the other hand closed against hers, she realized it was not Ray's large, soft hands.  
  
Cringing, she slowly turned to see who she had just (unintentionally) assaulted.  
  
“You're not Ray!” Were the first words out of her mouth. She felt a blush start from the tips of her ears, spreading down to her entire body.  
  
“No,” the owner of the limb she had just assaulted looked down at their still clasped hands in amusement. “I'm not.”  
  
“I'm so sorry!” She hurriedly released him from her hold. “I'm not trying to hit on you, or anything. Not that you're not hit-on worthy because you are. I mean, have you looked in the mirror, but—”  
  
“Felicity?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Oliver Queen?”  
  
“It's not a problem.” Oliver smiled at her.  
  
She was about to say more when one of the crew motioned for Oliver that he was needed.  
  
“Good luck!” She called out instead.  
  
“You, too.” Oliver looked back at her with an amused smile.

* * *

Here we go again, Oliver thought as he was once again asked to go on the walkway with Sara and two other couples.  
  
ESPN correspondent Linda Park and her partner Eddie Thawne were declared safe by McKeena.   
  
Next to them, actor Isabel Rochev and her partner Slade Wilson were declared to be in jeopardy.  
  
Then, the hosts turned to Oliver and Sara.  
  
“Oliver and Sara,” Harrison Wells stated solemnly. “You are also in jeopardy, and you will be dancing next."  
  
The triumphant smile that was trying to break through his face was cancelled out by the dread he was feeling at the thought of dancing again.  
  
True to Tommy's vow all those years ago, Oliver rued the day he thought signing up his best friend on  _The Bachelorette_  was a good idea. He forgot how creative and patient Tommy was in crafting revenge plans. _  
  
_

* * *

_“Up next, our star with the lowest scores last week try to make his way up the leaderboard. When we return, Oliver and Sara head back to the floor with a jazz routine._ ” Harrison Wells announced from the giant screen in the Red Room  
  
“Hey, Ray,” Felicity sighed in relief when she finally saw her partner who had been missing since exiting the walkway in the beginning of the show.  
  
Ray slowly made his way up the Sky Box where they were asked to watch Oliver and Sara's dance.  
  
“Sorry,” Ray gave her an apologetic look. He shook his mobile phone. “Had a little family emergency.”  
  
“Oh, no.” Felicity gave him a worried look. “Is it Atom?”  
  
“Yeah, but it's all squared now.” Ray shrugged. “It's kinda hard juggling the business and my personal affairs while doing this show.”  
  
“Ray,” she said as she hooked her arm around his. “I don't want you to sacrifice your life for this. This is just a show.”  
  
“I know.” Ray sighed deeply. “I just don't want to let you down.”  
  
“You won't let me down.” She assured him. “Because I know and understand that there are some things more important than that mirror ball trophy, alright?”  
  
Felicity felt Ray nod.  
  
“Anytime you need to talk, you know I'm here, right?” Felicity told him.  
  
“Yeah. Best partner ever.” Ray sighed. “One of the best ideas I ever had was to wait for you to become a pro so you could be my partner.”  
  
Felicity stepped back to give Ray a glare. “You know our conversation about the line between sweet and creepy?”  
  
“I crossed it again, didn't I?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Sorry.” He winced.

* * *

Oliver was dreading his turn on the ballroom because he had no idea what was going to be in his package.  
  
“My best year was 1995,” he was saying on the video. “The year my sister Thea was born.”  
  
If Oliver Queen was a man who was prone to laugh, he would have lost it at the utter look of devastation the producer in front of him.  
  
“No?” Oliver asked instead, deadpan. “What about this year?”  
  
“What about this year that made it so special?” The producer asked.  
  
“Because this is the year I joined _Dancing with the Stars_?”  
  
“Aside from that, do you have any other memorable year?” The producer asked, desperate for a juicy sound bite.  
  
“My most memorable year is 2007,” Oliver allowed himself a small smile. “The year I enlisted in the army. Joining the army saved me. I was given rules and limits. For the first time, I was being told no and that I can't just do whatever I wanted. Suddenly, my actions had consequences that affected not only me but my platoon.”  
  
“What happened while you were enlisted?”  
  
“I was never put on the front lines because my face was too recognizable, but I met a lot of remarkable people. I was sent to a lot of different places. I saw people who literally had nothing but was happier than I was. I went without food and water because they were without food and water.” Oliver was silent for a moment. “That changed me.”  
  
“Why did you get out?”  
  
Oliver hesitated. “There was a training accident.” Was his evasive answer. “That left twenty percent of my body covered in scar tissue. I suffered second degree burns on my arms and back, as well as twelve fractures all over my body.”  
  
“A training accident?” The producer tried to press.  
  
Oliver leaned back and considered the producer in front of him. “I could tell you.” He said slowly, his voice barely above a grumble.  
  
The producer visibly gulped.  
  
“But then, I would have to kill you.”

* * *

“ _Dancing jazz, Oliver Queen and his partner Sara Lance._ ”  
  
It was all he could do not to roll his eyes.  
  
During the dance, he put his feet where he was told, raised his hands when he was told, and lifted Sara the way he was told. Frankly, he did not get this dancing thing.  
  
Somehow though, he once again got through it.  
  
“Oh, Oliver,” Donna sighed during the judging. “You look so gorgeous. Sara, the choreography was good but kind of safe. Oliver, listen to me. I feel that you still have something more to offer and I want you to get out of your head and give it to me.”  
  
“I agree.” Amanda Waller nodded. “Oliver, you were so inside your head, thinking of what the next few steps are that you forgot to perform. You have to get into character because dance is not just moving your body, it's about telling a story, it's about art. You have to work on performing and not just getting through it.”  
  
Lance's statement was short and to the point. “Frankly, it was a disaster.”  
  
He got a 6 – 6 – 5.  
  
Things were once again definitely looking up. Not only was he in jeopardy, he also had the lowest scores thus far.

* * *

Felicity's heart was in danger of beating out of her chest. She barely had time to congratulate Sara and Oliver on their dance when the crew was pushing her and Ray back to the walkway to find out if they were safe or in jeopardy.   
  
She and Ray were third in the leader board but half their score would come from audience votes, so her and Ray's fate in the show was still unsure.  
  
When the show returned from commercial break, she and Ray were in line with two other couples.  
  
The first was news anchor and photojournalist Iris West and her partner Barry Allen, who were second in the standings (and tied with singer-songwriter Cisco Ramon and Laurel Lance's twenty-two judges' points). The other couple was supermodel Sin and her partner Roy Harper, who were sixth. Barry and Roy were two of Felicity's closest friends (all three of them were former troupe members before turning pro, and also the youngest dancers in the show) so she did not want either of them to be in jeopardy.  
  
“Iris and Barry, Sin and Roy, Ray and Felicity,” McKenna paused for dramatic effect. “You are all safe!”  
  
The audience screamed in excitement.  
  
“What?” Felicity asked Ray.  
  
“I think she said that we're all safe.” Ray replied.  
  
“We are?” Roy asked.  
  
“You're all safe!” Harrison repeated, laughing.  
  
“Yes!” Felicity actually fist pumped.  
  
Ray laughed and hugged his partner.  
  
“This calls for a group hug!” Barry, the huge nerd, called out, his arm slung around Iris.  
  
“No!” Sin cried out.  
  
And if that was not an invitation to become a Sin-sandwich, then Felicity did not know what was.

* * *

“Are you ready?” Felicity asked Ray later that night, just as they were about to perform.   
  
“I think so, yes.”  
  
Felicity frowned. “Remember, whatever happens, don't listen to the package, alright?”  
  
“I'll try.”  
  
“Don't try.” Felicity said sternly. “Do it. Or don't do it. Oh, you know what I mean.”  
  
“My most memorable year was 2013.” Ray from the video was saying. “It was the year my son Atom, Alfonso Thomas actually, was born. But it was also later that year that my wife, Anna, died of a traffic accident caused by a teen driver who was texting while driving.”  
  
“That explains your advocacy against texting while driving.” Jerry the producer interjected.  
  
“Yes.” Ray's smile was sad. “Anna is also the reason I want to do this. _Dancing with the Stars_ was her favorite show. She used to beg me to be in it so she can come every week and watch it live. I kept postponing it and postponing it because I was too busy. But here I am now. I know that wherever she is, she's watching me and our son, and feeling proud of us. This is why I am grateful for the chance to be here and I appreciate every dance I do with Felicity.”

* * *

“Ray,” present-day Felicity placed both hands on Ray's shoulders, noticing that the package was starting to affect him. “Ray, focus on me.”  
  
Ray took a deep breath. “Okay.”  
  
“Atom is going to be in the audience today,” she said. “You will be dancing for him and for Anna. Shake it off.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay.” Felicity smiled. “Now, are you ready?”  
  
“Yes. Bring it.”  
  
“That's what I want to hear.”  
  
“ _Dancing contemporary, Ray Palmer and his partner Felicity Smoak._ ”  
  
As soon as the first note and the first move was executed, Felicity was reminded why she loved to dance. Sometimes dancing meant expressing one's self, entertaining people, or ensuring that one's body was in top physical condition. But sometimes, when one is lucky, dancing was something else; something like right now, when dancing with Ray meant paying homage to his late wife Anna and celebrating the life of his son Atom.

This was one of her most favorite choreography to date. Ray was giving it justice, being in the moment, giving himself into the dance.  
  
A stunned silence greeted them as the last chords of the music faded away. Then, the audience erupted.

* * *

Up in the Sky Box, Oliver was clapping so hard his hands started to hurt.  
  
Ray's dance with Felicity was fantastic. It stirred something within him that he couldn't explain.  
  
“That,” Sara told him, not letting an opportunity to teach her partner pass by. “Is what dancing is about. It's not just about the steps or entertainment, dancing is also about emotions, about passion, about art.”  
  
Oliver couldn't help but nod. (He was beginning to get it.)

* * *

“Great job, Ray.” Felicity hugged him, then walked with him hand in hand towards the judges' table.  
  
“Thanks.” Ray smiled, then lifted a finger. “A moment.”  
  
Felicity watched as Ray ran towards the audience. When he returned, he had in his arms two-year old Atom Palmer.  
  
“Hi, baby!” Felicity crooned.  
  
Atom did not reply but reached out and wrapped a hand around a lock of Felicity's hair.  
  
“It's obvious that the studio audience loved your dance,” Harrison acknowledged. “Let's see if the judges agree. Donna?”  
  
“Oh, I hate you for making me go first,” Donna cried out, fanning her face with her hands. “You know I'm a crier. Okay. I'm okay. Ray, that was so beautiful on so many levels. You performed it well. And the choreography. Baby,” she looked at Felicity. “That was your best yet. Come here and give your proud mother a hug!”  
  
Felicity laughed and ran forward to her mother. When she returned to Ray's side, Atom leaned towards her and wrapped his chubby arms around her neck.  
  
Ray transferred the boy into Felicity's arms wherein Atom immediately hid his face against her neck.  
  
“Oh,” Donna's eyes widened. “Oh, my! My baby with a baby!”

“Harrison, let's move on!” Felicity didn't like the glint in her mother's eyes.  
  
“Alright, moving on,” Harrison laughed, knowing full well what the twinkle on Donna's eyes meant. “Amanda?”  
  
“It was beautiful.” She acknowledged. “For someone to have danced like that in the second week of the competition is astounding. Ray, I can't wait what more you can show us in the weeks to come.”  
  
“Thank you, Amanda.” Harrison acknowledge. “Quentin?”  
  
Instead of saying anything, Quentin simply stood up and clapped.  
  
They garnered a score of 8 – 8 – 8 which once again placed them third in the rankings, with only one more couple left to dance.

* * *

At the tail end of the show, Oliver Queen was again on the walkway, awaiting his and Sara's fate.  
  
With him were Isabel and Slade, and Olympic medalist Floyd Lawton and his partner Carrie Cutter.  
  
“Let's get some results.” Harrison announced as ominous music played in the background.  
  
“Floyd and Carrie,” McKeena stated. “You are safe!”  
  
The spotlight on the two switched off, leaving Oliver and Sarah, and Isabel and Slade at the center.  
  
This is it.  
  
“And the couple who is going home tonight is,” Harrison paused. “Isabel and Slade.”

* * *

“Hey!” Thea greeted her brother the moment he stepped in the house. It was obvious that she was waiting for him to get home. "You made it through another week. Congratulations!"  
  
Oliver was too exhausted to trade wits with Thea at the moment. In lieu of answering, he collapsed at the nearest horizontal surface.  
  
“I just want to tell you your heartfelt cry after Isabel and Slade was eliminated is going viral.” Thea informed him gleefully.  
  
Oliver groaned and covered his face with one of the throw pillows on the couch.

“So how come you didn't go straight home after the show?” Thea insisted. "Went somewhere interesting?"  
  
“I wish." Oliver mumbled from somewhere underneath the pillow. "After the show, we had exit interviews, then we had rehearsals.”  
  
“Poor baby.” Thea crooned at him. “Wait, why did you rehearse after the show? You never did that before.” Thea's eyes widened in excitement. “Is it time for the group dance? It's the group dance, isn't it?”  
  
“You'll find out during the show next like everyone else.”  
  
"Noooo!" Thea cried out, not unlike the cry Oliver let out after learning he was dancing for one more week.  
  
He looked back at her. Revenge was sweet. 


	4. Week Three: Movie Night/The Team Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's Movie Night on Dancing with the Stars! Tonight, all of the dances will be performed based on the big hits from the big screen. Later, we'll see the stars and the pros square off in their freestyle team dances.”

_"It's Movie Night on Dancing with the Stars!”  
  
_ “Tonight,” host Harrison Wells declared after announcing names of the couples remaining in the competition as they made their way to the walkway. “All of the dances will be performed based on big hits from the big screen.”  
  
Co-host McKeena Hall mentioned something about a switch-up happening the week next, but Oliver already tuned out after hearing them ask the audience to vote for their favorite stars.  
  
While waiting for the cue that he could leave the walkway, Oliver realized that for once, he was actually looking forward to tonight, not only because of the fun costumes. So far, he had seen a scarecrow, a psycho, and a frozen princess. He, personally, was Rick Blaine from _Casablanca:_  trench coat, fedora and all.  
  
“It promises to be another fun night.” McKenna agreed. “So grab your popcorn, sit back, and relax.”  
  
“Let's get on with the show!” Harrison finished.

* * *

“Dancing next,” Harrison Wells announced later that evening. “The couple who had a rough time getting out of the bottom spot.”  
  
“Let's see what happened when Oliver and Sara train for a routine based on Casablanca and get a little help from a friend.” McKeena Hall chimed in.  
  
“Oliver, would it kill you to smile while dancing?” Sara demanded from the video package.  
  
Oliver paused from his walkthrough of the dance Sara choreographed. His brain was five thoughts away from an explosion with everything that he had to remember in the dance. He had to keep up his frame, he had to point his toes, he had to remember the steps, and on top of all of those, he was expected to smile, too?  
  
It didn't help that Sara's patience had been wearing thin, brought about by her frustration after having correctly deduced that he was doing everything in his power to be eliminated.  
  
“It might,” he replied.  
  
“You want to quit?” Sara crossed her arms, her stance challenging. “Fine. But tell me now to my face, instead of the passive-aggressive shit you're doing. That way I won't waste my time and my talent choreographing a dance you do not want to do.”  
  
“I don't—” Oliver paused, a hand rubbing his face in frustration. “I need a break. I'll be back in five.”  
  
Oliver wanted to bolt but he had a feeling that even if he made it out the rehearsal studio, the cameraman that chased after him would simply follow him wherever he went. With nowhere else to go, Oliver went to the kitchen to grab a cold bottle of water, expecting to be left alone.  
  
Unfortunately, the kitchen was occupied, based on the constant rapid-fire taps on the keyboard.  
  
Oliver bit back a groan when he saw a bespectacled, ponytailed woman hunched over a laptop seated at a corner of the room. He ran away from the blond in the rehearsal room only to find another blond behind a laptop.

The blond paused in her fast and furious typing and looked up when Oliver's cameraman cleared his throat. “Hey.”  
  
Oliver jaw dropped when he finally recognized the blond in front of him. “Felicity? You look—”  
  
“Plain?” Felicity's mouth twisted in a bitter parody of a smile. “This is actually how I look, you know, without the makeup, spray tan, and glitter.”  
  
“No,” he immediately interjected. “No. Not plain. I was going to say different.” He moved closer to her and smiled. “I like it.”  
  
“Thanks.” Felicity's smile told him that she actually did not believe him. She motioned for him to sit down across from her; both of them ignoring the cameraman who was trying to find an angle from where he could get a good shot.  
  
“So what brings you to my corner of the kitchen?”  
  
The frown was back on Oliver's face.  
  
“Sara wants me to smile.”  
  
“That bitch!” Felicity screeched. “What was she thinking, asking you to smile?”  
  
And just like that, Oliver found himself smiling as was wont to do whenever he was in the vicinity of Felicity.  
  
“I know you don't want to be here. I mean, not here here, as in the kitchen.” Felicity tried to clarify. “And not here here, as in the world. Because if you don't want to be here here, as in the world, I can't help you at all except to say that I'm sure you make the world better. I mean, your sister obviously loves you and—”  
  
“Felicity.”  
  
She paused and took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. Then, she started again. “I know you don't want to be here, here as in the show.”  
  
Oliver did not offer even a token protest.  
  
“But if you stop being selfish for like five minutes,” she held up a finger to stop Oliver's automatic denial. “Let me finish.”  
  
Oliver shut up.  
  
“This is just some show to you, taking away three months of your life, max.” She told him severely. “But this is Sara's career. Sabotaging yourself means—”  
  
“Sabotaging her career.” The proverbial light bulb lit up in his brain. That was why Sara was frustrated at him. He was lucky she was just that and not angry because he knew she could (and would) kick his ass.  
  
“If she wants you to smile, you smile.” She told him. “She's asking you to do it not because she thinks it's fun to torture you, but because it'll make your routine better.”  
  
“You're right.” Oliver nodded. “I better get back to rehearsals.”  
  
When he made a move toward the door, she went back to her laptop.  
  
“Felicity?”  
  
Felicity looked up questioningly.  
  
“Your dance with Ray last night?” Oliver searched for the right words to describe how he felt while watching it, but he failed so he settled with, “It was good. Better than good.”  
  
“Thank you!” Felicity absolutely beamed.  
  
He winked at her before leaving the kitchen.  
  
It was a testament to Oliver's distraction that he never got the bottle of water he came for in the first place, but it would ruin his exit if he returned. Instead, he went back to the rehearsal room.  
  
“I'm sorry for being a tool.” He told Sara once he entered. “Let's get back to practice. I promise to try and smile this time.”

* * *

“ _Dancing the Foxtrot, Oliver Queen and his partner Sara Lance_.”  
  
For the first time, Oliver walked in the ballroom without cringing.  
  
Dancing was hard, harder than he had expected. He had to keep his frame, had to be elegant, had to _smile_ , all while trying to remember what the next step was and where he was going. However, he had on a trench coat, he was wearing a fedora, and he had a fantastic partner who could, and would, carry his ass in case he messed up.  
  
His new-found confidence on the dance floor fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it) translated to judges' scores.  
  
“Oliver, I feel like that's your best dance yet!” Donna Smoak gushed. “Your lines were fantastic! You're footwork showed a lot of improvement. One thing I do have to point out is that you're not in character. You tried with that smile, which is great, by the way, but you get in your head a lot and it shows on your face.”  
  
“I agree that this was your best dance so far.” Amanda Waller piped up. “Your musicality improved drastically but when you went out of hold, you fell out of time and, as a result, fell out of sync. Next week we have the switch up. Your new partner, whoever she is, have to work on that.”  
  
Quentin Lance limited his critic to a single word: “Meh.”  
  
He and Sara got 8 - 8 – 7, his highest scores yet.

* * *

“It's movie night this week and my movie is _Casino Royale_ ,” Ray declared in the package when it was their turn to dance. “And Felicity is pouting.”  
  
“Why?” Jerry the producer asked, off camera.  
  
“She wants to be James Bond.” Ray shook his head. “But she can't be James Bond because I'm James Bond!”  
  
“You're too dorky to be James Bond.” Felicity called out, also off camera.  
  
“That is not true!” Ray shouted back at her. Then to the camera, “She may have a point, but I always wanted to be James Bond, and this is my movie night so I'm going to be James Bond.”  
  
“If I can't be James Bond,” Felicity called out again. “Then I want to be Q.”  
  
Ray thought about it for a minute. “Lady, you got yourself a deal!”  
  
“We're doing the rumba,” Felicity was saying as the video cut to a scene of Ray and Felicity's practice. “You gotta be sexy.”  
  
“I got this. Don't worry.” Ray gamely swiveled his hips in front of the mirrors. “Why are you laughing?”  
  
“Sorry,” Felicity wheezed. “Okay, that was a good first try. Do it again.”  
  
Ray did so.  
  
"Oh, boy,” Felicity could be heard muttering under her breath. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

* * *

“ _Dancing the rumba, Ray Palmer and his partner Felicity Smoak._ "  
  
To be fair, Ray really worked hard to improve his hip action; and despite Felicity's teasing, he did make a dashing James Bond. Moreover, when he channeled James Bond, _he channeled James Bond_. The moment the hair and makeup people declared themselves done with him, Ray had been telling everyone, ' _The name is Bond. James Bond_.' while shooting at them using his hands, complete with sound effects.  
  
In the dance, Felicity took advantage of Ray's long limbs for beautiful extensions. His strength and their difference in height and size meant that she could easily drape herself all over him.  
  
Add those to the fact that from the very beginning, she and Ray have a wonderful partnership.  
  
They nailed the rumba, in Felicity's opinion.  
  
Fortunately, the judges agreed with Felicity's assessment.  
  
“That was unbelievable! Ray, you blew my mind!” Donna gushed. “You were sexy and gracious and hot. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you. Great job! Nine!”  
  
“Your mom just gave us our first nine.” Ray whispered to Felicity, bouncing in excitement.  
  
“You're not the best dancer this season,” was Amanda's frank analysis. “But you could be. Work on your technique, watch your toes, and try to rein your enthusiasm just a little bit more, and you will be a force to reckon with. Ten!”  
  
Felicity's jaw dropped. Did Amanda Waller just gave them a ten? And to think Ray was so happy with their first nine.  
  
“The first ten of the season!” Harrison Wells announced. “Well deserved. Well deserved.”  
  
“Like Amanda said, you're not a natural dancer.” Quentin Lance stated when it was his turn to comment on the dance. “But it is obvious that you're not afraid to work hard, to learn, to take the critics we give in order to improve. All of those paid off. Tonight, you proved that you're not just here to have fun. You've shown yourself to be a contender. Nine!”  
  
Felicity screamed at the unexpected high scores. She jumped up to hug her partner, who caught her and spun her around.  
 

* * *

After the last individual dance of the night, all the couples were asked to step back into the walkway. Only this time, they were divided into two groups.  
  
Standing beside Oliver and Sara were Lyla and Dig, Ray and Felicity, and Sin and Roy. On the other side were Cisco and Laurel, Iris and Barry, Linda and Eddie, and Floyd and Carrie. They were the two teams that would compete in the group dances.  
  
“Here's what happened when our couples worked together in groups for the first time,” Harrison Wells declared. “Starting from the moment the teams were chosen after last week's show.”  
  
From the video package, the remaining eight stars looked at each other, all of them sporting identical looks of confusion.  
  
"Next week,” McKeena told them. “We have our team dances so you have to prepare for two routines.”  
  
Oliver was barely able to bite back a groan because one dance was hard enough, but two?  
  
“Our team dance captains are Lyla and Cisco since they garnered the highest scores tonight.” McKeena continued. “Lyla, your total judges' scores are higher than Cisco's so you have first pick on who you want on your team.”  
  
“Oh, I choose from them who I want as my teammates?” Lyla clarified.  
  
“Yes.” McKeena affirmed.  
  
“I am going to pick Ray.” Lyla grinned.  
  
“Yes!” Ray was (surprise! surprise!) thrilled as he made his way at Lyla's side.  
  
“Cisco?” McKeena prompted.  
  
“Iris!” He called out.  
  
Iris smiled brightly as she made her way beside Cisco.  
  
“I want Sin.” Lyla said.  
  
“Linda!” Cisco grinned.  
  
Then, the only two left without teams were Olympic medalist Floyd Lawton and Oliver.  
  
This was not like playing sports, Oliver thought. He was never the last person picked in the playground.  
  
“Oliver!” Lyla picked between the last two teamless celeb.  
  
“Thank you!” He told her fervently. His gratefulness was not just for not letting him be picked last, but also for the fact that he would not be forced to join Laurel's team because things were awkward enough.  
 

* * *

“We're doing _Breakfast Club_ ,” Lyla announced the moment their group had assembled.  
  
“What's the other team doing?” Ray asked.  
  
“ _Lord of the Rings_.” Lyla replied.  
  
“I love _Lord of the Rings_.” Felicity gushed.  
  
“Then you're on the wrong team.” Roy rolled his eyes. “'Cause Lyla just said we're doing _Breakfast Club_.”  
  
“I know that,” Felicity threw her hands up in exasperation. “I was just making a comment.”  
  
“But you just said—”  
  
A look from Dig immediately put a stop on the bickering between Felicity and Roy.  
  
“So we're up against Team Laurel,” Sin, the supermodel known only by her first name, piped up. “I have been watching this show since I was ten. Laurel has consistently choreographed precise, synchronized, and highly-technical dances. In Laurel's eleven seasons of the show, she had never lost a team dance. Ever.”  
  
“Laurel's an Emmy-award winning choreographer with four Mirror Ball Trophies under her belt,” Ray added. “The most any pro had ever won.”  
  
“And Cisco is a fantastic dancer with background in hip hop and millions of Twitter followers.” Sin told them about Laurel's partner.  
  
“Let's not worry about the other team.” Dig interjected. “Let's just worry about us.”  
  
“That's a good strategy.” Ray nodded. “Our team has the reigning champ and winner of two Mirror Ball Trophies, John Diggle; my partner is the dance floor sweetheart and youngest pro ever; Sara is a twelve-time U.S. National Dance Champion; and Roy is a two-time World Latin Dance Champion. I think we're in good hands.”  
  
“Wow,” Felicity whistled. “You weren't kidding when you said that you're a living, breathing Wikipedia of _Dancing with the Stars_.”  
  
“Our stars aren't half bad either.” Sara grinned. “Lyla is at the top of the leader board; Ray is consistently improving week after week; Sin has millions of Twitter followers herself.”  
  
“And then we have me.” Oliver interjected self-deprecatingly.  
  
“Don't sell yourself short,” Felicity gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Word online is that you're the favorite of the show's target demographic.”  
  
“Thanks,” he replied. “I think.”  
  
“Okay, now that we've sufficiently fluffed each other's egos,” Lyla told them. “We need a team name and an idea of what to do.”  
  
“Any suggestions?” Dig asked.  
  
“Maybe the guys should dance shirtless, give my mom a treat.” Felicity muttered. "I guarantee a ten."  
  
“Maybe we should just start with the team name.” Dig rolled his eyes in exasperation.  
  
Two minutes later, they were Team Brat Pack (thank you, Ray).  
  
The stars were then asked to take a break while the pros brainstorm their routine.   
  
Only thirty minutes in, Dig, Felicity, and Roy, with occasional inputs from Sara, had almost completely finished choreographing their one and half minute-dance.  
  
Oliver immediately saw the logic Lyla used in picking her team members. At first, he thought it was insane that she would choose Sin over Linda and Floyd, both of whom were better dancers than the young supermodel.  
  
It was strategy, Oliver realised, one which he could appreciate as a soldier. Her choices had nothing to do with the stars at all. She chose based on the pros that went with the stars.  
  
Ray had told him in one of his unending babbles that Dig had trained both Felicity and Roy, who used to compete as partners when they were younger. Oliver saw that the trio worked well as a team. Sara, on the other hand, provided them with a fresh set of eyes and new ideas that pushed their choreography to its best.  
  
Unfortunately, hearing Ray talk energetically was making Oliver tired. Thus, Oliver faked a minor injury and the need for water so that he could have a respite from the other man.  
  
“How are we doing?” Ray asked upon his return, handing Oliver a bottle of water from the kitchen.  
  
“I think they're almost done.” He replied. He wished they were done. He would not be able to stand anymore of Ray's continuous stream of thoughts.  
  
“Which is good, because I'm tired and I want to go home.” Sin stretched out on the stage.  
  
“We need to finish whatever we can tonight,” Lyla told them. “Because after this, we have only one rehearsal left.”  
  
“We're done.” Dig called out. “Let's do this.”  
 

* * *

On their next (and final)  group rehearsal, they already polished to perfection the portions in the dance where they would be dancing together. All that was left was for their individual dances and the transitions from one dance to another.  
  
Everyone was tired after a long day, and tempers were a little short.  
  
“Stop shoving my face away!” Oliver erupted after the fifth time Sara did so, even knowing that it was one of his peeves.  
  
“I wouldn't have to do that if you would just listen to my instructions.” Sara snapped back.  
  
“That's it!” Oliver seethed. He stepped back from his partner. “I'm done.” He yanked the microphone attached to him and threw it to the ground in one fluid motion.  
  
Immediately, the tension in the room increased a hundredfold.  
  
“Oliver!” Dig called out after him, but was ignored.  
  
A cameraman attempted to follow Oliver but a murderous glare stopped him.  
  
However, not five seconds after Oliver stepped out to the veranda, he heard the door open.  
  
“I want to be left alone.” He stated without turning around to face the newcomer.  
  
“And I want to win the lottery, buy my mother one of those mansions in Beverly Hills, and oh, if we're going to be putting our wishes out there, I want to get my doctorate without going through dissertation.” Came the reply which left no doubt as to who followed him. “But I guess we are both bound to be disappointed.”  
  
“I just need a few minutes.” He told her.  
  
“Which we don't have.” She told him bluntly. “If you want to break down, you have to do it at your own time.”  
  
“Felicity—”  
  
“Look, I know you don't want to be here,” she told him severely.  
  
“But Sara—”  
  
“This is more than Sara now.” She didn't give him the chance to finish. “We're your team, and we need you. I told you to stop being selfish for Sara, now I'm telling you again to stop being selfish because those people in there? They want to be here, they deserve to be here, and it would be devastating if their chances are ruined because of you.”  
  
“Felicity—”  
  
“Look, Ray?” She moved her hands vaguely towards the door. “He uprooted his son and his assistants so that he could be here because he's fulfilling his wife's dream. Sin? She placed her career on hold because of the show. Lyla? She had to give up the opportunity to be the brand ambassador of a sports drink because the tour schedule conflicted with the show. So pull your head out of your ass and let's do this.”  
  
“That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past two minutes. I'm ready to get back inside.”  
  
“Oh.” Felicity blinked. “Alright, I guess. Let's go.”  
  
“And Felicity?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I'm sorry for letting the team down.”  
  
“You haven't yet.” She told him with a smile.  
  
“And thanks for coming after me.”  
  
Oliver motioned for Felicity to precede him inside, then followed her in.  
 

* * *

“What were the other team's scores?” Sin asked while their group video package was playing.

“10 – 9 – 9.” Ray replied. “So we need a near perfect score at least to beat Team Fellowship. But no pressure.”  
  
“ _Dancing the freestyle, it's Team Brat Pack_.”  
  
Seconds before the music started, Oliver's eyes strayed involuntarily towards where Felicity was standing but she was, unfortunately, solely focused on Ray.  
  
Oliver did his best because his team needed his best, and he was proud of himself for not messing up even once.  
  
He just hoped the judges would see how hard everyone worked in their routine.  
  
“Your individual dances were fantastic and were filled with personality. As a group, your energy was leaping off the stage. It was well done!” Donna praised them. “Ten!”  
  
“There was a little synching issue but I like this performance better than the other team. Oliver, you could have been the weakest member on the team but you held your own next to the pros and to Ray. Great job.” Was Amanda's contribution. “Nine!”  
  
“It was alright, I guess.” Quentin shrugged. “Nine!”  
  
A 10 – 9 – 9. They were tied with Team Fellowship.  
  
It wasn't a win, but it wasn't a loss, either.  
  
Oliver would take it.  
 

* * *

“So you survived another week,” Thea gleefully told him. “Congratulations.”  
  
Oliver sighed. Sin and Roy didn't deserve to be eliminated; he did. He was, however, surprised at the relief he felt on the walkway when Harrison Wells pronounced him safe.  
  
“And you blew up the Internet. Again.”  
  
“I know.” Oliver sighed, walking over to his sister's well-stocked bar to fix himself a stiff drink. He needed it after the day he had. “I'm sorry I lost my temper but I swear, the package make me sound a hundred times more evil than I actually was. I already apologized to Sara and the team. We're all fine.”  
  
“Not that.” Thea waved his brother's ill manners away as if it was a minor inconvenience. “You and Felicity. The consensus last week was to keep you as far away from Felicity as possible because you might destroy her in the switch-up but tonight, you guys are trending. Also, there's ongoing ship wars between Olicity, Raylicity, and Sliver.”  
  
Oliver was pretty sure his sister stopped speaking English at the tail end of her statement. “What does that mean? Thea? Thea! Come back here!”


	5. Week Four: The Switch-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Live, from Hollywood, it's Dancing with the Stars! It's the Switch-Up Night! Tonight, we'll see if the audience made the right choices when they switched up our couples. For one night only, let's welcome the stars and their brand new partners!”

“ _Live, from Hollywood, it's Dancing with the Stars!”  
  
_ “Welcome to _Dancing with the Stars_!” A gleeful Harrison Wells declared after the pros exited the ballroom following their opening number. “I'm Harrison Wells.”  
  
“And I'm McKeena Hall.” His co-host declared, her energy easily matching his. “It's the Switch-Up Night!”  
  
“Indeed, it is.” Harrison affirmed. “Tonight, we'll see if the audience made the right choices when they switched up our couples."  
  
“For one night only,” McKeena grinned. “Let's welcome the stars and their brand new partners!”  
  
It was different going to the walkway without Sara Lance. Oliver Queen was used to Sara and he was not a man who was used to change. But before he could ponder the feeling further, his new partner gave him a huge, beautiful smile. He noted absently that she was practically bouncing on her (pointed) toes in her excitement.  
  
Being on the walkway without Sara Lance was different, Oliver finally decided. It was not bad, just different.  
  
Oliver Queen remembered meeting his new partner for the first time Monday morning.  
  
“You're late.”  
  
Oliver Queen actually stepped back and checked the number on the door. Yep. He was in the correct rehearsal room.  
  
He knew that it was the Switch-Up. He also knew that he was a pain in Sara's butt, locking horns with her, protesting her every decision and concept at every turn. But were the producers really going to make him dance with the tallest, meanest pro in the show?  
  
John Diggle was standing in the middle of the studio, arms crossed and with a severe expression on his face.  
  
“I'm sorry?” Oliver frowned.  
  
“You're late.” John Diggle repeated. If looks could kill, Oliver would be dead by now.  
  
Oliver shrugged. Technically, he was only fifteen minutes late, which was actually early in Oliver-time.  
  
“If you're late,” Diggle told him as he advanced towards the other man. “You're disrespecting the show and you're disrespecting your teacher. Believe me you don't want to disrespect your teacher.”  
  
“You're not my new partner, are you?” Oliver resisted the urge the step back from Diggle.  
  
“This is your first warning.” The other man stated, ignoring Oliver's question. “You won't get a second one. Am I understood?”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Oliver replied, the discipline instilled in him from his years of military service suddenly coming back at him.  
  
“Good.” Diggle left, presumably to proceed to his own rehearsal room.  
  
Immediately after the door slammed close, a staff from the show peeked inside.  
  
“Is it safe to enter now?” A producer whose name always escaped Oliver, asked meekly. At Oliver's shrug, he and three cameramen walked in. “I'm just going to text your partner that she can come in now.” He stated after explaining that Diggle kicked them out so he could have a private talk with Oliver.  
  
As the producer was fiddling with his phone, Oliver's own phone vibrated.  
  
It was a message from Sara. ' _I will end your miserable life if you do not improve your attitude with your new partner._ '  
  
Before Oliver could even compose a reply to Sara's enigmatic message, three knocks were heard before the door opened unceremoniously.  
  
Instead of the expected female pro, three men standing outside were revealed.  
  
“Hey, man.” Barry Allen strolled in, a burger in hand and looking as if he had nary a care in the world.  
  
“Hey.” Oliver nodded, but he had a bad feeling about him and his companions.  
  
Allen was followed by the imposing figure of Slade Wilson and the frowning Eddie Thawne.  
  
“We're here to give you advice, kid.” Slade told him, his voice low and menacing.  
  
“Dancing advice?”  
  
“What? No. That's what your partner is for.” Barry frowned, as if he was mentally composing what he wanted to tell Queen. “Just, just try not to break her, okay?”  
  
“I don't even know—”  
  
“I still say that she'll kill us if she know what we're trying to do.” Thawne talked over Oliver, shrugging. “But what he said.”  
  
Slade did not even have to utter anything. He simply gave Oliver a look that, had Oliver been a weaker man, would make him fear for his balls.  
  
As quickly as they came, the trio of men left.  
  
“What just happened?” Oliver asked the equally confused producer and cameramen.  
  
Then, without warning, the door once again slammed open.  
  
Laurel Lance walked in like she owned the place.  
  
“You're my partner?” Oliver gaped. He knew he was specific that he did not want Laurel as his partner even for just one night.  
  
“I am friends with a lot of cops and have a license to practice the bar here and in five other states.” Laurel told him, her face intense. “I may have been a pushover all those years ago when we were together but things have changed, Queen.”  
  
Oliver had no doubt that Laurel could, and would, make his life hell as revenge for all the wrongs he had done to her. On live television, no less.  
  
“Laurel, I—”  
  
“Save it.” Laurel told him. “But remember this: do not even think of giving her even a modicum amount of the grief you have given my sister. You will live to regret it the rest of your miserable life.” With that statement, Laurel left, her exit as dramatic as her entrance.  
  
“She's not my partner?” Oliver asked, relief evident in his voice.  
  
His producer, still as confused as Oliver, merely shook his head.  
  
A few seconds later, there was another knock on the door.  
  
“Who is it?” Oliver called out, apprehensive because of what had happened thus far.  
  
The door burst open.  
  
“Oliver Queen, you're my new partner?”  
  
Oliver looked at the producer hopefully.  
  
The producer nodded.  
  
“Yes!” If Oliver was a praying man, he would have dropped to his knees in gratefulness. “Finally. Thank you.”  
  
“This is so exciting!” Felicity Smoak pranced into the room and right into Oliver's arms.  
  
“Hey.” Hesitantly, Oliver wrapped his arms around Felicity. He allowed the hug for a couple of heartbeats before he released her and stepped back. That was new. Sara Lance was not a hugger.  
  
“So did the producers tell you what our dance would be?” Felicity asked.  
  
“The Argentine Tango.” Oliver replied.  
  
“That's my favorite dance,” she honest-to-god fist pumped. “Try not to mess it up.”  
  
She was adorable.  
  
“I'll try my best not to.” He promised her solemnly.   
  
“Ray is going to be so jealous. He knew I was looking forward to choreographing a tango.” Felicity tied her hair into a ponytail. “Let's get to work.”  
 

* * *

“So what do you think of the idea of robots coming into life because of love?”  
  
“Robots coming into life because of love.” Oliver's tone was thick with derision.  
  
“No?” Felicity pouted for a second then, “Wait. Stop, stop, stop. You're out of time again. Start from the beginning.”   
  
The music stopped abruptly, before promptly starting over.  
  
Oliver focused on his task for about ten seconds, but it quickly became tedious. “Felicity?”  
  
“Yeah?” She asked distractedly.  
  
“We're wasting time.”  
  
“You don't even want to be here, what do you care? Now clap and walk. Clap and walk.”  
  
Oliver sighed and continued the pointless task of clapping to the music while walking around the room.  
  
Felicity had clapped and walked with him the first time, to teach him the beat of the music, but now he was on his own. Like an idiot.  
  
“What's the point of this exercise?” He called out to her. “I mean, assuming that this has a point.”  
  
Felicity did not even bother to lift her head, her attention solely on her phone. “Hmm?”  
  
“The least you could do is clap and walk with me.” He tried again.  
  
“I could,” she agreed. “But I still have to think of a concept for our dance. You lost the beat again. Start from the beginning.”  
  
The music restarted.  
  
“How do you do that?” He finally demanded.  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Restart the music without using a remote or something.”  
  
“Magic,” she replied. “Now walk and clap.”   
  
“Wait?” Oliver's eyes narrowed even as he began his walk and clap. “You don't have an idea what we're going to dance yet?”  
  
That was another difference between his two partners. Sara always came prepared during rehearsals. She would arrive first thing Monday morning with all the steps nailed down and with nothing else to do except teach Oliver the choreography. None of this clapping while walking to the beat of the magic music that seemed to play at the will of one Felicity Smoak.  
  
Oliver stopped what he was doing. “So you're making me walk and clap because you don't have choreography yet?”   
  
“I'm new at this, okay?” Felicity rolled her eyes. “Give me a break.”  
  
“How new at this?”  
  
“It's my first time as a pro,” she sounded defensive. “And I've been a troupe dancer for only two seasons.”  
  
“So three years?”  
  
“One and a half, actually.” She grudgingly admitted. “But my mom had been bringing me to the ballroom since the beginning of the show. So technically, I have fifteen years under my belt.”  
  
“Fifteen years?”   
  
“Yeah. If you look at footages of the first few seasons, I'm sure you'd see a four-year old girl with coke-bottle glasses running amok backstage.”  
  
“You're telling me that I shouldn't be nervous we don't have a dance yet?”  
  
“Yes.” Felicity snapped at him. “Besides, the concept and choreography is my problem. Yours, on the other hand, is clapping while walking. Now, start from the beginning.”   
  
Like clockwork, the music abruptly stopped only to begin over again.  
  
Oliver groaned but gamely did what he was told.  
  
“What do you think of being an FBI agent chasing after a world-famous cat burglar?” Felicity asked minutes later. “As our theme, I mean.”  
  
“That is better.” Oliver grinned. “But then anything is better than robots coming into life because of love.”   
  
“You have no romance in your soul.” Felicity pouted. “And to think, you already have the robot part down.”  
 

* * *

“And turn,” Felicity muttered a few days into their rehearsal. “Good but you have a bad face on. And by bad face, I don't mean that your face is bad. I'm sure you know you're actually good-looking. I think it's the reason that you stayed as long as you did in the competition.”   
  
Oliver let out a bark of laughter at Felicity's _oh, shit_ face.  
  
“I don't mean to imply that you're a bad dancer.” Felicity attempted to surgically remove her foot from her mouth. “Because you're not. You just have to improve on a few things, and also it would help if you—”   
  
“Felicity? Breathe.”

Felicity looked up at him gratefully. “What I'm trying to say is that don't let your face show that you're counting in your head. Let's do it again. Start from the beginning.”  
  
The music stopped mid beat to start over again.   
  
“How do you do that?”  
  
“I told you,” she replied. “Magic.”  
  
They tried again. Oliver thought that he was having a great turn so he was surprised when Felicity stopped him again in the middle of the dance.  
  
“Wait. Stop, stop, stop, stop. Use your core when you accelerate. Like this.” Felicity demonstrated. “You do it. Good. Now, together. See? That's better. Start from the beginning.”  
  
Oliver did not even protest when the music restarted.  
  
A minute and a half later, an exhausted, heaving Oliver Queen slowly lowered a barely even winded Felicity Smoak on the floor.  
  
“That was good,” she praised him. “Unfortunately, I can still tell that you're counting the beats in your head. You know how? You have on your Counting Face.”  
  
“Counting Face?”   
  
“Yeah. You have on this face,” Felicity demonstrated, her face looking as if she had a bad case of constipation. “That tells the audience that you're counting the beats in your head and thinking of the next step.”   
  
“But I was on beat.” He told her. “I should get points for that.” The reason that he was able to move with the music, that is, all the clapping and walking to the music he did on the first day, went unacknowledged.  
  
“And you will.” Felicity rolled her eyes. “The judges, Amanda especially, are going to be so happy we worked on your timing. But now we have to work on your Counting Face. Let's try it again. This time, look at your face in the mirror. You'll know what I'm talking about.”  
  
When he wasn't forgetting the choreography because he was checking out himself on the mirror, he saw that he did have a specific face whenever he was dancing and it was not a good face. Felicity was right. Again.  
  
“See?” Felicity laughed. “Let's start from the beginning, and this time try to control the expression on your face.”  
  
Later, a happy Felicity fist pumped. “That was better. I feel more comfortable with the lifts this time. Good job.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
"Man, am I a great teacher or what?" She laughed. “But we still got to do something with the Counting Face.”  
  
“Please stop calling it that.”  
  
“I will once you stop making that face.” Felicity grinned up at him as she walked to the corner of the room where she left her stuff. “Don't worry, though. I know just the thing to help us out.”  
  
From her smile, it was obvious to Oliver that she was up to something.  
  
There was a knock on the door.  
  
“Just in time, too!” She chirped. "Which is surprising because her brother never is."  
  
The door opened.  
  
“Hello, big brother.”  
  
Oh, no.  
  
No, no, no, no.  
  
This was a disaster.  
 

* * *

“Freeze! FBI!”  
  
“Ollie, what is that?” Thea rolled her eyes at her brother's pathetic attempt at acting. “You have to believe you're holding a gun to make me believe you're holding a gun.”  
  
“But I'm not holding a gun.”  
  
“I know that!” Thea told him impatiently. "That is why we are acting and not actually stopping bank robbers."  
  
“We're wasting time.” Oliver called out to Felicity who was seated on the sidelines, watching the siblings interact with much amusement.   
  
“That's what you said about the clap and walk, and look how that helped you.” She replied.  
  
“How did you two meet again?” Oliver muttered.  
  
“There is such a thing as the internet, Ollie.” Thea replied.  
  
“Yeah, you should check it out sometime.” Felicity added.  
  
Then, to Oliver's horror, the two ladies giggled as if they just delivered the funniest joke known to man.  
  
“Let's dance or let's act,” Oliver told them. “Just stop joining forces against me.”  
  
“I'll take this outside.” Felicity announced when her phone started ringing. “Thea, you still have your brother for half an hour."  
  
Almost immediately after Felicity left, there was a knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Roy Harper poked his head in.  
  
Oliver frowned. “May we help you?”  
  
“I'm here to deliver a warning.”  
  
Oliver groaned.  
  
“What warning?” Thea piped in.   
  
“Oh,” Roy paused before slowing turning beet red. “Hi. I'm Roy Harper.”  
  
“Thea Queen.” She grinned. “Oliver's sister and now acting coach. So what's the warning you've come to deliver?”  
  
"I know." Roy reddened even more.  
  
“If you've come here to warn me to behave for Felicity, you're a little late.” Oliver interjected sardonically.  
  
“You're here to threaten my brother?” Thea raised an eyebrow, taking in Roy's height and breadth. “The fact that you think you can take on Ollie is so cute.”  
  
“I can take him. He may be bigger than me, but I'm sneakier.” Roy replied, not even the slightest bit offended. “Wait. You think I'm cute?”  
  
“Well, sure.”  
  
“I was eliminated last week,” Roy said slowly. “So I'm kinda at loose ends lately. Want to join me in the kitchen? I could make you a cup of coffee.”  
  
“Make it tea and you've got yourself a deal.”  
  
“What just happened?” Oliver asked, confused, as he watched his little sister walk out of the room with Harper.   


* * *

“Do it again.”  
  
“But we just did it!”  
  
“What did I say about complaining?”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Just do it.” Felicity told him.  
  
“No, I need a break.”  
  
“A break? A break is for the weak!” Felicity gaped, scandalized. “Dishonor on you, dishonor on your family, dishonor on your cow!”  
  
Confused, Oliver snapped back, “I don't have a cow!” This shrew was the ballroom sweetheart everyone was protective of?  
  
“Fine, you big baby.” Felicity stomped to the sidelines. “Let's take five.”  
  
“Thanks, slavedriver."  
  
Seconds later, Felicity accepted Oliver's peace offering, a bottle of water, with a smile and a thanks.  
  
“How did your acting workshop with Thea go?” She asked him.  
  
“It went.”  
  
“It's important, Oliver. I don't want you to just walk through the dance,” Felicity told him. “I want you to feel it, tell a story.”  
  
“I'll try my best.” He finally replied. “Anything else you want me to do while I'm at it?”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity nodded before taking both his hands. “I want you to relax and have fun.”  
 

* * *

“ _Dancing the argentine tango, Oliver Queen and his partner Felicity Smoak_."  
  
“Ready?” Felicity asked before taking her position.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
If last week was the first time he walked into the ballroom with confidence, tonight was the first night he was actually looking forward to dancing.  
  
It probably had a lot to do with his new partner.  
  
She made dancing fun. He probably smiled more in the week they rehearsed than he had since coming back from his deployment.  
  
She also gave him the opportunity to bond with Thea in the middle of the week, something he didn't know he needed. That time with Thea, which he still maintained was a waste of time, re-energized him, giving him the boost he needed to continue in the competition.  
  
Most of all, she had given him a choreography that was physically and mentally challenging. It involved a lot of fast movements, complicated lifts, and pointed toes.  
  
Before he knew it, the dance ended with his FBI Agent finally catching Felicity the cat burglar but deciding for some asinine reason to release her. (“Because of love, Oliver!” Felicity had screamed at him when he pointed it out. “Because of love!”)  
  
“That was well done!” Harrison's comment after Oliver and Felicity's tango was drowned out by the loud, excited crowd. 

Oliver, winded from his exertions, merely nodded his thanks.  
  
Felicity, on the other hand, with her boundless well of energy, made her way towards Harrison and the judges' table. When she got there, she hugged Harrison.  
  
“Good job, sweetheart.” Harrison told her proudly. After the crowd quieted down a bit, he continued, “I would like to point out that Oliver and Felicity is the most requested pair of the night.”  
  
“We are?” Felicity asked. “Wow.”  
  
“I was looking at the judges' faces when you were dancing.” Harrison admitted. “I'm predicting good scores. Let's hear from the judges if I'm correct. Donna?”  
  
Instead of the expected critique, Donna Smoak gave out a high-pitched scream.  
  
“Mom!” Felicity winced.  
  
“Sorry, baby,” Donna took a deep breath before turning to Oliver. “While watching you, I was wondering who were you the entire time. Oliver Queen, you are a dancer! That was your best dance yet and the best dance of the night so far! I just have one question for you.”  
  
“What is it?” He asked.  
  
“Are you single?” She winked. “Because I have a daughter who is.”  
  
“MOM!” Felicity screeched.  
  
“Sorry, darling,” Donna giggled. “Nine!”  
  
Felicity hang on Oliver's arm, giving him a squeeze on the arm when she heard their score.  
  
“We better move on before Felicity explodes.” Harrison laughed. “Amanda?”  
  
“Like Donna, I was also surprised.” Amanda began, her face blank. Then, slowly, a warm smile broke through. “Oliver, you had beautiful lines. It was obvious you listened to our comments and worked on it. You had focus, determination, and good work ethic, and it showed in your dance. And Felicity, great job with him. Nine!”  
  
“Care to make it three for three?” Harrison asked. “Quentin?”  
  
When Quentin opened his mouth, Felicity gave him the most convincing puppy dog eyes. Quentin sighed, his defeat evident.  
  
“Fine,” Quentin finally stated. “It was fine. It was okay. Eight."  
  
“Thank you!” Felicity cried out before she ran to the male judge to give him a kiss on the cheek.  
  
Oliver saw Quentin try desperately to hide his smile.  
  
Maybe the old fart did have a heart after all.  
 

* * *

It was almost the end of the show, three dances had passed since theirs, and Oliver was still holding on to Felicity's hand.  
  
“If Ray gets a higher score than what we had last week, I'm going to get so mad.”  
  
Oliver couldn't help but feel disappointed when Felicity finally removed her hand from his. That feeling quickly dissipated when Felicity instead wrapped her arms around his waist.  
  
Oliver thought she did not even realize that she was squeezing him, her attention absorbed by the giant monitor in the Red Room, watching Palmer's video package.   
  
He felt that he was always competing with a piece of tech for Felicity's attention.  
  
“But I want him to get high scores so we won't be eliminated next week.” Felicity continued her monologue.  
  
“So you want him to do well, but not that well.” Oliver summarized.  
  
“Yes! That's exactly it.”  
  
“ _Dancing the quickstep, Ray Palmer and his partner Laurel Lance_."  
  
A noise of distress escaped from Felicity. Oliver gave her a comforting squeeze.  
  
“That's the last dance of the night.” Felicity whispered.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Felicity sighed. “I had a great time dancing with you.”  
  
“You know what? Me, too.”  
  
“I'm going to miss you.” She admitted.  
  
Oliver smiled, knowing she couldn't see it. “Me, too.”  
  
“I'm glad.” Felicity paused. “And if you could give me a list of the overbearing men who thought I couldn't hold my own against you and threatened you, that would be appreciated.”  
  
“What are you going to with the list?”  
  
“I would mess with their credit ratings. Just a little bit.”  
  
Oliver couldn't resist kissing the top of her head. “Done.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lines, plots, twists, and choreographies lovingly borrowed from Arrow and DWTS Seasons 16-20.


End file.
